


Influenza

by summercarntspel



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda Piercintyre but not, M/M, Sick Hawkeye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercarntspel/pseuds/summercarntspel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawkeye comes down with the flu, Trapper takes care of him and his paternal instincts kick in when Hawkeye needs him the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Influenza

**Author's Note:**

> POSTED FOR MASH FAN ART DAY OKAY 
> 
> Feedback, lovelies? <3

Hawkeye grunted, trying vainly to clear his throat before he went into a little coughing fit, desperate to hide it in the crook of his arm as he leaned against Trapper, eyes closing briefly. It was too early to exist...

They were in line for the scrub sink, just behind Frank and Margaret, who were taking their sweet time, barely listening as Radar read a report from Regimental about the most recent batch of wounded.

"You okay?" Trapper asked, a concerned look on his face as they shifted up to the sink, a hand coming up to rub gently at Hawkeye's back when he began to cough again, "You don't sound so good, pal."

"I'm fine," Hawkeye insisted, sniffing loudly, hoping that would somehow prove his point, and began to scrub slowly, "Just a little sleepy and hungover."

Radar finished his reading, staring nervously at Hawkeye, eyes squinting behind the frames of his glasses. He hesitantly reached for a spare mask, holding it up over his mouth and nose.

"Captain, you really don't look good," Radar commented, shaking his head, "You're sweating and everything."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes, wincing at the slight pain it caused his aching head, "I'm not sweating, I'm just glistening with the excitement and anticipation of being buried up to my armpits in guts."

Henry tugged his mask down to hang loose around his neck, walking closer to the younger man and glancing up and down, "You're sick. You don't need to BE a doctor, you need to SEE one, Pierce."

"I'm fine!" Hawkeye insisted, voice cracking a bit and causing another bout of coughing, which he controlled after a few painful moments, "So I'm chilly and sweating and my sinuses are pounding out a hateful beat and I coughed up something that was nearly the same shade of sickly green as last night's mashed potatoes... that doesn't mean I'm sick!"

Alright, so maybe he was sick, but Hawkeye wasn't planning on giving up that easily. As dedicated as he was to treating the sick and injured, he hated being on the other end more than he hated Frank Burns and V.D. lectures combined.

There was a short moment or two of silence, then Trapper carefully tugged off Hawkeye's off-white cap and mask, tossing them both in the dirty linens' bin before he slowly untied his best friend's gown, pulling that off as well.

"Bedtime, Pierce," Henry insisted, glancing into the operating room through the window in the door, "We need to get in there and you need to get to your tent. Someone'll come check on you when this crowd thins out."

And, as much as he wanted to complain and disobey, Hawkeye just didn't have the energy. With a half-hearted wave to everyone and a quiet wish of good luck, he turned on his heel and stumbled back to the Swamp, falling back into a restless, feverish sleep even before his head hit the pillow.  
~~~~  
The next time Hawkeye's eyes opened, he was incredibly aware of just how badly his head ached, pressure from clogged sinuses building up until he was pretty damn sure his head would pop off.

He grunted, wanting to know why he was awake, and tried to bury himself under his blanket, whining when someone shook his shoulder again. "What? I'm dead, leave me alone," he slurred miserably.

He heard the sound of Trapper chuckling softly, then felt himself being rolled over onto his back, a thermometer being shoved into his mouth when he opened it to protest.

"Ya been out for four or five hours," Trapper answered, not needing to hear the question in Hawkeye's mind, eyes locked on his watch as the seconds ticked by, "Business was pretty normal, I just finished my last patient, and I figured I'd come see my favorite germ factory. We're supposed to get more casualties within twenty-four hours, but it ain't supposed to be too bad."

Hawkeye nodded, the thermometer bobbing as he did so, eyes screwing shut. God, he hadn't felt this sick in a long time... If he were honest, as much as it pained him to even think it, he was happy to have someone to comfort him, even if that just meant stabbing at him with thermometers and forcing powdered eggs and orange juice down his throat.

"Oh, and ya missed Doctor Brilliance Burns drop seven instruments, then yell at two different nurses for handing him a scalpel when he asked for, guess what, a scalpel," Trapper continued, waiting until two minutes had officially passed before he removed the thermometer, "And, in other news, you got a temperature. 102.3, to be exact."

Hawkeye coughed, shaking his head and knuckling at his eyes tiredly. "What's the diagnosis, doc? Sick enough to be sent home to Daddy?"

"You wish," Trapper chuckled, shaking two little pills out of a medicine bottle and handing them over, "You appear to be suffering from that dreamy little virus herself, influenza. Take these to help with your fever and wash 'em down with some water."

Hawkeye wrinkled his noise, grabbing at the cup of water Trapper passed to him, "No booze?"

Shaking his head, Trapper patted Hawkeye's knee and watched him take the pills and chug down the water before he took the mug back, setting it on Hawkeye's foot locker, "Not while you're on the medicine, y'goofball. You went to med school, you know the rules."

Hawkeye sighed, leaning back against his pillow and yawning loudly, his jaw cracking, "Yeah yeah... can I go back to sleep now?"

"Go on, get some rest," Trapper nodded, pushing himself up to his feet and ruffling Hawkeye's messy hair, "I'm gonna go grab some coffee and whatever may be masquerading as chow from the Mess Tent, then I'll be back to tend to you."

"Will you put on a cute little nurse's outfit?" Hawkeye teased, already nearly asleep as Trapper walked to the door.

Tossing a grin over his shoulder, Trapper offered Hawkeye a wink as he stepped outside, "Only if you let me take your temperature the other way."

With a giggle and a sleepy smile, Hawkeye fell back asleep, sickness as good as gone, providing he was unconscious. And, for the time being, that was good enough for him.  
~~~  
Hawkeye slept through the entire rest of the day and well into the night, the combination sickness, medicine, and general exhaustion taking its toll on his body.

When he did wake up, he felt sweaty and uncomfortable, chills wracking his body, a small whine escaping him. The tent was spinning and everything ached so badly... a quick self-diagnosis told him that his fever was back and higher than before.

"Trapper... Trapper," Hawkeye whined, too far gone to care about how childish and needy he was being, only truly aware of the fact that he needed comfort and the person who gave it to him-outside of Crabapple Cove-anyway, was asleep, "Trap, need you..."

Trapper, trained to wake at even the smallest disturbance, was up instantly, wiping the gunk out of his eyes and letting a wide yawn escape him as he walked over to Hawkeye's bunk, kneeling down beside it and grunting when his knees cracked. "Ugh... hey, buddy, what's wrong?"

"Need you," Hawkeye insisted simply, tears rising to his eyes without him granting them the permission to do so, arms raising weakly in the hopes of getting some kind of hug, "Feel awful... feel real bad..."

Trapper clicked his tongue, smiling that sad, sweet little smile he used to offer Kathy or Becky when they got sick, and moved forward, hugging Hawkeye's sweaty, too-hot body without any hesitation.

"I'm sorry, pal... I know you must feel terrible. Ya wanna to take some medicine? Maybe you better eat a bit of something," Trapper whispered, knowing full well that he could scream at the top of his lungs and Frank would still stay blissfully unaware and asleep, but knowing that whispering always made things sound nicer and more comforting, "I have some stale crackers. Can ya eat those for me, kiddo?"

Maybe he was speaking to Hawkeye like he was a toddler, but those big, teary, glassy eyes Hawkeye was staring at him with almost made it seem justified.

Hawkeye groaned, the idea of food not particularly appealing to him, but aware that what had to be done just had to be done. "Yeah... Yeah, okay, I can try."

Trapper grinned, ruffling Hawkeye's hair and fumbling for the thermometer, gently placing it between the other's lips, "You let that do its thing and I'll get your meal together."

Two minutes later, give or take a moment or two, Trapper knelt down again, removing the thermometer and squinting at it before he shook his head and handed over the crackers and glass of water he had fixed up.

"What's the story?" Hawkeye asked, voice slurred and sleepy, a bit delirious, "How high is it?"

Trapper rolled his eyes, gesturing to the crackers and glass of water, "High enough to make you need to get that in your belly. C'mon, Hawk, I wanna go back to bed and you need your sleep."

Maybe it was in his imagination, but Hawkeye detected this tenderness, this warmness in Trapper's voice... he'd heard it before, sure, when Trapper talked to the little kids from the orphanage that came for shots or when Trapper was gushing about the latest picture he got of his daughters, but the voice had never been directed at him. And maybe he shouldn't have liked it, but he did.

Trapper was being so fatherly and attentive and sweet... So, it was silly, but the question on Hawkeye's mind had to come out, even if he wouldn't have dared to ask it without the feverish delirium.

"Y'mean you won't cuddle me?" Hawkeye asked around a mouthful of cracker, washing the dry crumbs down with a swig of water, "Mom always cuddled me... Dad tried to copy Mom's cuddle when she was gone, but he couldn't... wasn't as good as Mom, y'know?"

Trapper smiled slightly, bobbing his head as he watched Hawkeye finish the crackers and water, handing over two pills when he had cleared the carnage away, "Mom's are better cuddlers, I think. They smell nice and they're softer."

"Yeah... I miss Mom's cuddles..." Hawkeye admitted, staring blankly at the canvas ceiling of the tent after he had swallowed the pills, "Miss Dad, too, even if he can't cuddle..."

Trapper nodded yet again, leaning forward to drop a careful, sweet peck to Hawkeye's warm forehead, brushing his damp, curled bangs back gently, "It's okay... I'm here. I may not be them, but I'll take care of you, I promise. Okay?"

Hawkeye let out a soft snore, eyes closed, a peaceful look on his face. Trapper took that as his cue to return to his cot, a small smile on his face as he fell back into a peaceful sleep of his own.


End file.
